Viva Espana

Due to a rather hectic last fortnight (2 weeks to you Americans), there has been little time for updates. I have hit a bit of a wall with work. I keep having to face the dissappointment that comes each time I think I will have a block of free time that will enable me to get ahead, only to fail as I find I have so much more to do than I thought. Each time you tackle one thing it gives rise to another that needs to be dealt with, organised or assessed. It is frustrating and disheartening, but the masses of overtime has to stop so something has to change. The one nice thing is that as there isn’t the same number of distractions here as everywhere else we have lived (apart from Roatan that is), it means that we don’t mind going in to work on Saturdays. It’s peaceful, bright and with huge windows onto the suuny and breezy garden area. Taking a weekend off means that the next week is rushed and disorganised. This would not be so bad if we didn’t have so many duties. Elementary school has 3 hours of duty a week. That rounds our contact hours up to 25+ and doesn’t leave too much time for marking, planning, assessing etc.

Enough about the trials and tribulations of school. Last weekend we did take a weekend off. And yes, we have suffered this week because of it. But it was worth it. Well worth it. We were offered a car for the weekend by a friend who had run out of beer and wanted us to do a booze run to Spain for him. We jumped at the chance, even at short notice. It is about a 400 kilometre drive to Ceuta/Septa the Spanish enclave on the North Eastern tip of Morocco. We invited Sarah and Terry along with us for their first visit to Europe.

We packed as lightly as we could and piled ourselves into our friends small purple Polo 1.2 and set off in high spirits at 7.30 in the morning. We had decided to go the scenic route through the mountains as the highway would add about 100 kilometres to the journey, and we had been told it was the most interesting way to go. We wound our way down to Meknes, navigated through the busy city with remarkable ease considering we had a Google map which was alternately missing pictures then instructions. We drove past Volubilis, the ancient Roman ruins and then seemed to leave civilisation for an hour or two. We passed through small linear villages and Berber communities and the occasional town, but mainly it was open dusty farm land. Our little car didn’t have aircon so we had the windows wide open and were wind blasted the whole way.

 

The route we took was very scenic; we passed the open farm land and then wound our way up into the spectacular Riff Mountains which were amazingly dramatic after our mini hills of the Middle Atlas. Huge soaring ragged limestone peaks ripped up into the sky, collecting a thick blanket of clouds. It was a good job it was so pretty as we soon discovered why it was that people had recommended that we leave Ifrane at three in the morning. The roads are windy and the trucks slow. There are not that many safe places for overtaking and it takes practice and knowledge of the road. What should have been a five-six hour journey took us seven, nearly eight hours by the time we made it through the border crossing into Spain. Spain is two hours ahead of us at the moment. It was 5.30pm, we were hot, tired and well and truly wind blasted and we were arriving in a town with limited accommodation on a Saturday with no reservation or real idea about where to stay. By our holiday planning standards we were completely unprepared and more than slightly concerned that four tall people would be sleeping in one small car.

Passing into Spain we were a bit disappointed. I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but I think I had expected to see a difference straight away. Crossing the border we found the same run-down buildings, dodgy looking hostels and many people in traditional Moroccan dress. As we got closer to the centre of town however, it all started to change. The tatty two story concrete buildings were replaced by grand Spanish architecture, the dirty footpaths by manicured pedestrianised walkways, and the headscarves and Jelabas by shorts, T-shirts, dresses and sunglasses. After nearly three months in Ifrane it was such a refreshing change. I was so excited that for the first fifteen minutes I was totally distracted from the fact that the town centre was an absolute nightmare to navigate and we were unable to find anywhere that resembled a place to stay. Ceuta is a small area of 18.5 square kilometres and it’s town centre is tiny. Perched on a hilly peninsular, the streets are narrow, one way, very very steep and strangely seemed to be lined with police tape stopping us pulling over to look for places. Every corner we went round we were faced with a police officer stopping us turning in the direction we needed. Finding our way around and looking for hotels distinguished only by a small GH plaque somewhere on the front proved to be too much for us after an eight hour drive. We parked in an overnight car park, asked the attendant for the nearest hotel and threw money at the problem. We paid 15 Euros more than we had hoped, but at that point we didn’t really care. And besides, it was nearly 6 pm and we still had to find Lidel; the reason we had driven 400 km in the first place. We dumped our bags, threw water on our faces and went out in search of the cheapest alcohol in Europe.

 

After being in Ifrane with only time shops to choose from, Lidel was amazing. We stocked up on all foodstuffs frowned upon... booze, bacon and chorizo. And a lot of cheese for good measure. There were four of us and we had a shopping list for two others. We walked out with five slabs of beer, 28 one litre cartons of wine (55 cent each, should have bought more), 5 bottles of spirits, 16 bottles of wine and fizzy, 1 bottle of sangria and 1 bottle of Cassis. It was worth the drive. A beer here is about 1 Euro, there it was 25 cent. We didn’t buy a bottle of wine over 3 Euros. I have no idea how we packed ourselves and the shopping back into the car and managed to cross customs when we left, but we did. It seems officials aren’t that interested in desperate expats in search of cheap alcohol because when we did leave (with slabs hidden under blankets) the only question they asked Nick when they looked in the boot was “do you have any guns?”.

We had been advised to keep our watches on Moroccan time as we were only there for 24 hours. When we set out for our evening it was 7pm for us, but 9pm for everybody else. In many countries this might cause you to rush as places would soon stop serving food. In Spain it suited us just fine as they don’t even get going until 10.00. Peak time for eating was about 11.00. We started in an Irish bar. The boys had been talking about their pints of Guinness the whole drive up. From there we went on to the first tapas bar we could find. It didn’t look too busy and we soon found a table by the window. Slowly the small bar filled up, people were standing in the door and out on the street. Within minutes of walking in the bar we noticed that 50% of the tables had children, infants or babies in pushchairs. There were even kids sitting on bar stools at the bar. This was the theme for the night. It seems that unlike other places I have been, in Spain people’s social life does not slow down with the arrival of children. Instead it is the norm to take them to the noisy crowded bars and rock them with your hip while you laugh and drink. I think the kids would have been out later than us that night if we didn’t have our two hour time difference buffer.

While in the bar and steadily working our way through the tapas menu with each round, we noticed out of the window a procession of children dressed in Sunday best making their way up the street. They were swinging incense globes and carrying crosses and at first we thought we were witnessing a funeral procession. It wasn’t until we saw that all the kids were smiling and laughing that we were brave enough to go outside. Well Terry was anyway. He wasn’t just brave enough to go outside, he went and stood in the middle of it to take photos. Over the next hour (as we steadily got drunker as we were now stuck in the bar), a long procession of children, adults, marching band and a 12 foot long gold float with a life size statue of Jesus on made its way past our window. The huge float was covered with candles and carried on the shoulders of overall wearing head bandaged men. We definitely got more than we bargained for when we sat down in that little bar. Our friendly waiter said it was for Semana Santa, but that’s in April so I’m not sure what it was, but the procession was huge and worked its way around the centre. It went past our hotel at about 4 in the morning as we were going to bed and was still causing chaos on the roads the next day. That explained the police tape and presence then.

All in all our trip to Spain was amazing. It was great to stock up on all the things we’ve missed and fabulous to spend a night out surrounded by people who are used to socialising the same way as we do. I think the occasion went to our heads a little as can be seen from sun of the drunken antics we got up to at the end of the night. At least all the tapas we ate meant that we didn’t feel as bad as we could have the next day. Saying that, a six hour drive south in 40 degree sun was going to be unpleasant whatever the severity of the hangover. It’s still not enough to deter us and we are all trying to work out when we can go back.